


I Worry About Him. Constantly.

by pocketsebastian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsebastian/pseuds/pocketsebastian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hates abrupt changes and adores Mycroft. So, what could possibly be his reaction when Mycroft goes to uni without telling Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Worry About Him. Constantly.

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't sleep and this sort of just started rattling off in my head. I figured this is a reasonable way that Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship could have started to edge towards what it is currently. But I'm posting my first fic so...Yay? Notes at the end.

There were things Sherlock liked and there were things Sherlock did not like. He liked on Tuesdays when Nanny brought him to the park but he much preferred Thursdays when Mycroft took him. He liked when Mycroft bandaged up his new bruises and scrapes from bullies at school because Mycroft would tell him how the wound would heal. Sherlock adored when Mycroft went to town and came back with sweets, splitting them with Sherlock and giving the boy a good portion of them because Mycroft was trying to watch his weight. Mycroft read him stories and played pirates and didn’t yell when Sherlock hit him too hard with his plastic cutlass, like Nanny did.

There were things Sherlock did not like, though. When Mycroft sided with Mummy on an argument, when Mycroft was busy with school work, when Mycroft would tell him he couldn’t bring the dead bird or mouse he found to dissect and investigate inside, or when things were changed abruptly without notice or explanation. Mrs. Holmes did not know if her son was just fickle or different, but Sherlock hated when things were changed and he was given no explanation or warning.

\---

“Did you tell your brother you were going to university?” asked Mummy, the morning that Mycroft was leaving, his suitcase already loaded into the car. Sherlock was asleep still, having been on a three day strike of sleep and finally succumbing to exhaustion. The seven year old was determined, it seemed, to establish that he was in charge of his sleeping and eating schedules and Mycroft desperately worried that without him here, the boy wouldn’t eat or sleep without heavy bribery. Mycroft was always able to talk him into taking just a few bites of a meal or lying down for even just four or five hours. Everyone else had to bribe him with new books or privileges.

“Yes, yes, Mummy,” Mycroft murmured, somewhat tiredly. No, he hadn’t told his brother he was leaving. Mycroft had planned to tell the boy, he really had, but after consideration, Mycroft had no idea how to explain to Sherlock that he would be gone for some time and wouldn’t be back till holidays. If Mummy noticed Mycroft’s lie, she didn’t say anything and just gave a small nod before pulling her eldest son into a hug. Mycroft gently patted his mother’s back and returned the hug gratefully. It was only a few minutes later that Mycroft was clambering into the car and bidding his mother goodbye.

\---

At first, Sherlock didn’t notice anything different. Sometimes Mycroft was gone. He had been working an internship during the summer, so it was normal for Mycroft to stay overnight and work himself until he fell asleep at the office. So, Sherlock’s daily habits continued. He had lessons with Nanny every morning, Tuesday he went to the park and had his newest scrapes and bruises tended to when he got home, and by Wednesday he was completely excited. Mycroft always made sure to come home Thursdays so he could take Sherlock to the park and Sherlock really wanted to see Mycroft.

When Thursday morning came and Sherlock’s lessons were done, he planted himself in the sitting room and waited. And waited. And waited. When Mummy came home from wherever she had been (shopping, Sherlock was fairly sure), Sherlock was sure something was wrong. Mycroft hadn’t come home. Mycroft hadn’t come to take him to the park. Frowning with confusion clearly written on his face, Sherlock approached his mother uncertainly.

“Mummy? Where’s Mycroft? It’s Thursday, he didn’t take me to the park. Is he mad at me?” the small boy asked, staring at his mother with a small pout. Had he upset Mycroft in some way? Sherlock hadn’t done anything wrong since the week before when he’d accidentally broke Mycroft’s clock when he was trying to take it apart and put it back together. Had that been what upset Mycroft? Mycroft had said it was okay, although he looked a bit mad for a few hours until Sherlock played him his favourite piece on his violin. After that, Mycroft had said it was okay and he wasn’t mad at Sherlock.

Mummy stared at Sherlock, her own brow crinkling for a brief second before she smoothed her face and smiled sadly, bending down to her son’s height. “Sherlock, dear, Mycroft went to university, remember? He told you. He won’t be back for a few months.” But Sherlock’s confusion was enough for the woman to figure it out. Mycroft hadn’t told his little brother he was going away. Slowly, so very slowly it was almost terrifying, Sherlock’s face contorted into a look of rage, of upset, of betrayal.

The next few hours were spent trying to soothe Sherlock’s tantrum and keep breakables out of reach, a feat that proved rather futile when three vases were shattered and his violin was smashed. After that, Sherlock locked himself in his room and refused to come out for a few days. Food was left outside his bedroom door that disappeared at random intervals (Sherlock was obviously trying not to be predictable because Nanny or Mummy were sure to try and force him out if they figured out when he was grabbing the food) and the dishes were put back out long before they could catch him again. Finally, after five days of the tantrum, Sherlock returned to his normal everyday habits, as if the tantrum had never happened.

\---

“Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him? Oh god. Don’t tell me.”

“Too much history between us, John. Old scores, resentments.”

“Knicked all his Smurfs. Broke his Action Man.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ends a bit abruptly, for which I apologize. To be fair, though, I typed all of this exhausted and half awake and in about fifteen-twenty minutes after writing it first in my head for nearly an hour and a half.


End file.
